In his rear view mirror, Sam saw that the stranger wasted no time in jumping into his own vehicle, a dark blue Taurus that looked far more civilized and robust than its owner.
“Are you bloody serious? For Christ’s sake! Are you actually going to chase me?” Sam shrieked in disbelief. He was right, and he dropped foot. It would be a mistake to head into the open road, as his little jalopy could never outrun the Taurus’ six-cylinder torque, so he made straight for the old condemned high school grounds a few blocks form his apartment.
Not a moment later, he saw the swiveling blue car in the side mirror. Sam was concerned about pedestrians. It would be some time before the road would become less populated by people and he feared that someone may walk out in front of his charging car. His adrenaline fueled his heart, a most unpleasant feeling left in his gut, but he had to outrun the maniac stalker at any cost. He knew him from somewhere, even though he could not put his finger on it, and with Sam’s career, it was very likely that his many enemies had become nothing more than slightly familiar faces by now.
Under the fickle play of the clouds, Sam was forced to use the strongest setting of his windshield wipers to make sure he could see the people under umbrellas and those reckless enough to race across the road in the pouring rain. Many people could not see the two bolting cars headed their way, their sight concealed by the hoods of their coats, while others simply thought the vehicles would stop at the crossings. They were mistaken, and it almost cost them dearly.
Two women screamed as Sam’s left front light barely missed them as they crossed the street. As he sped along the gleaming tarmac and concrete road, Sam continuously flashed his headlights and honked. The blue Taurus did nothing of the sort. The stalker was only interested in one thing – Sam Cleave. Around the sharp curve on Stanton Road, Sam jerked up his handbrake and skidded the car into the curve. It was a trick he knew from his familiarity with the neighborhood, something the virgin did not know. With wailing tires, the Taurus swerved, careening wildly from pavement to pavement. In Sam’s peripheral, he could see the bright sparks of collision between cement pavement and aluminum hubcaps, yet the Taurus stayed steady once he took control of the deviation.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Sam sneered, sweating profusely under his thick sweater. There was no other way to lose the madman in his wake. Shooting was not an option. Too many pedestrians and other vehicles used the road for bullets to fly, he reckoned.
Finally, the old high school yard came into view on his left. Sam geared back to bolt through what was left of the diamond mesh fence. It would be easy. The rusty, torn fence was hardly attached to the corner post anymore, leaving a weakness many vagrants discovered long before Sam did. “Aye, that is more like it!” he yelled, and accelerated straight for the sidewalk. “That should confuse you something, hey, fucker?”
Laughing in defiance, Sam veered hard left, bracing himself for the impact of the pavement on his poor car’s front bumper. No matter how prepared Sam thought he was, the collision was tenfold worse. His neck snapped forward along with the crunch of the fender. At the same time, his short rib was brutally introduced to his hipbone, or so it felt, before he soldiered on. Sam’s old Ford suffered the awful scratching of the fence’s rusty end, cleaving at the paint like the nails of a tiger.
Head down, eyes peeking through under the top of his steering wheel, Sam aimed his car at the cracked surface of what was once the tennis courts. Now the flat area only held remnants of demarcation and design, leaving only tufts of grass and wild plants protruding through it. The Taurus came at him with a roar, just when Sam ran out of surface to drive on. Ahead of his speeding, bent car, there was only a low cement wall.
“Oh shit!” he hollered, clenching his teeth.
The little broken wall led to a steep drop on the other side. Beyond that, the old S3 classrooms loomed in sharp red brick. An instant stop that would certainly end Sam’s life. There was no choice but to employ his handbrake turn again, even though it was a little late. The Taurus charged at Sam’s car as if there was a mile of runway to play with. With immense force, the Ford whirled, virtually on two wheels.
The rain impaired Sam’s vision. His stunt through the fence disabled his wipers, and he had only the left wiper blade running – useless to a right-hand drive car’s driver. Still, he hoped that his uncontrolled turn would slow his vehicle sufficiently as not to crash into the classroom building. This was his immediate concern, with the intentions of the Taurus occupant as a close second. Centrifugal force was a furious condition to be in. Much as the motion urged Sam to vomit, its influence was just as effective at keeping it all in.
A clank of metal, accompanied with sudden jerk stop, forced Sam out of his seat. Fortunately for him, his body did not propel through the windshield, but slumped onto the gearshift and most of the passenger seat after the twirling motion ceased.
Only the patter of rain and the tin clicks of a cooling engine sounded in Sam’s ears. His ribs and neck ached terribly, but he was okay. A deep exhale escaped Sam as he realized that he was not too badly injured after all. But suddenly he remembered why he was involved in this calamity in the first place. Keeping his head down to play dead for the stalker, Sam felt the warm trickle of blood emanate from his arm. The skin was torn just under his elbow where his arm slammed against the open ashtray lid between the seats.
He could hear the clumsy footsteps tapping in the puddles of the wet cement. He dreaded the mumbling of the stranger, but the man’s hideous cries made his flesh crawl. Luckily he was only mumbling now, since his target was not fleeing from him. Sam deduced that the man’s terrible cry only came when someone ran from him. It was eerie at least, and Sam kept still in order to fool the weird pursuer.
‘Come a little closer, you bastard,’ Sam thought, as his heart pounded in his ears, mimicking the punch of thunder above. His fingers curled around the butt of his gun. Much as he had hoped that his mock-decease would deter the stranger from bothering or hurting him, the man simply jerked open Sam’s door. ‘Just a little more,’ Sam’s inner voice instructed his quarry, ‘so I can blow your fucking brains out. Nobody will even hear it here in the rain.’
“Sham,” the man said at the door, inadvertently denying Sam’s wish to narrow the distance between them. “Sh-sham.”
Either the madman had a speech impediment or he was mentally retarded, which could explain his erratic behavior. Briefly, a recent report on Channel 8 went through Sam’s mind. He recalled hearing about a patient that escaped from the criminally insane facility at Broadmoor and he wondered if this could be the man. However, on the back of that enquiry came the question of his familiarity with Sam’s name.
In the distance, Sam could hear police sirens. One of the local businesses had to have called the authorities when the car chase ensued through their quarter. He was relieved. This would seal the stalker’s fate, no doubt, and he would be rid of the threat once and for all. At first, Sam thought it was only a one-time misunderstanding, as those that often occur in pubs on Saturday nights usually were. However, the creepy man’s persistence made him more than just a coincidence in Sam’s life.
Louder and louder they came, but the man’s presence was still undeniable. To Sam’s surprised disgust, the man darted in under the car roof and seized the static journalist, gathering him up effortlessly. Suddenly, Sam dropped his charade, but he could not reach his gun in time, and he dropped that as well.
“What in God’s name are you doing, you daft bastard?” Sam shouted angrily as he tried to pry the man’s arms away. It was in such close quarters as these that he finally saw the maniac’s face in broad daylight. Under his fedora hid a face demons would recoil from, a similar horror to his disturbing elocution, but he appeared perfectly sane up close. Above all, the stranger’s terrible strength convinced Sam not to put up a fight this time.
He threw Sam into the passenger seat of his car. Naturally Sam tried the door on the other side to escape, but it was missing its entire lock an
d handle panel. By the time Sam turned back to try exiting by the driver’s seat, his kidnapper was already starting the engine.
“Hold tight,” is what Sam construed as the man’s command. His mouth was but a slit though the charred skin of his face. That was when Sam realized that his abductor was nor insane, neither had he crawled out of a black lagoon somewhere. He was mutilated, which practically robbed him of his ability to speak and forced him to wear a trench coat and fedora.
‘My God, he reminds me of Darkman,’ Sam thought as he watched the man expertly work blue torque machine. It had been years since Sam read graphic novels or the like, but he remembered the character vividly. As they left the scene, Sam lamented the loss of his vehicle, even if it was a piece of crap from the old days. Besides, before Purdue got hold of his cell phone, it was also an antique from Nokia BC and could do little else than send texts and make quick calls.
“Oh shit! Purdue!” he accidentally exclaimed, remembering that he was supposed to collect the footage and meet with the billionaire in the late afternoon. His kidnapper just looked at him in between evasive motions to get out of Edinburgh’s densely populated areas. “Listen, man, if you are going to kill me, do it. Otherwise, let me out. I have a very urgent meeting and I really don’t care what sort of infatuation you have with me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” the burned man scoffed, driving like a well-trained Hollywood stunt driver. His words were heavily slurred and his s’s mostly came out as a ‘sh’, but Sam found that a little time in his company could get his ear accustomed to the distinct diction.
The Taurus hopped over the raised pavement markers that lined the striped yellow paint of the road, where they exited the off-ramp onto the highway. Thus far, there were no police vehicles on their trail. They had not arrived yet, when the man took Sam away from the site, and did not know where to begin pursuing.
“Where are we going?” Sam asked, his initial panic slowly turning to frustration.
“A place to talk,” the man replied.
“My God, you look so familiar,” Sam muttered.
“How could you possibly tell?” the kidnapper asked sarcastically. It was clear that his handicap did not mar his attitude, and that made him one of those types – the type that did not give a damn about restrictions. An efficient ally. A deadly enemy.
9
Going Home with Purdue
“I want to put this on record as being a very bad idea,” Dr. Patel moaned, reluctantly signing out his tenacious patient. “At this point, I have no concrete excuse to keep you confined, David, but I am not sure you are quite fit to go home yet.”
“Noted,” Purdue smiled, leaning on his new walking stick. “For what it is worth, old boy, I will take care not to aggravate my cuts and stitches. Besides, I have arranged for home care twice a week until our next check-up appointment.”
“You did? That does make me feel a bit more relieved,” Dr. Patel admitted. “Which medical aid are you using?”
Purdue’s impish smile woke some concern in the surgeon. “I elicited the services of Nurse Hurst on a private fee over and above her hours worked here at the clinic, so it should not interfere with her work at all. Twice a week. One hour for assessment and treatment. What do you say?”
Dr. Patel was stunned to silence. “Damn, David, you really cannot allow any mystery to pass you by, can you?”
“Look, I feel awful about not having been there when her husband could have used my inspiration, even just on a platform of morale. The least I can do is try to make up somewhat for being absent back then.”
The surgeon sighed and laid a hand on Purdue’s shoulder, leaning in to softly remind him, “It will not salvage anything, you know. The man is dead and gone. Nothing good you try to do now will bring him back or satisfy his dreams.”
“I know, I know, it makes little sense, but for what it is worth, Haroon, let me do this. If anything, seeing Nurse Hurst will ease my conscience just a little. Please, grant me that,” Purdue implored. Dr. Patel could not argue that it was a feasible point, from a psychological perspective. He had to concede that every bit of mental soothing Purdue could spare could help him recover from his all too recent ordeal. There was no doubt that his injuries would heal on almost as well as it was before the attack, but Purdue needed to occupy his psyche at all costs.
“Not to worry, David,” Dr. Patel answered. “Believe it or not, but I understand entirely what you are trying to do. And I am with you, my friend. Do what you deem redemptive and remedial. It can only do you good.”
“Thank you,” Purdue smiled, genuinely content with his doctor’s consent. A brief moment of awkward silence passed between the conclusion of the conversation and the arrival of Nurse Hurst from the locker rooms.
“Sorry I took so long, Mr. Purdue,” she puffed hastily. “Had a bit of trouble with my stockings, if you must know.”
Dr. Patel pouted his lips and suppressed his amusement at her statement, but Purdue, being ever the smooth gentleman, immediately changed the subject to prevent her from further embarrassment. “Shall we go, then? I am expecting someone soon.”
“You are leaving together?” Dr. Patel asked quickly, looking taken aback.
“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse explained. “I offered to take Mr. Purdue home on my way home. I figured it would be an opportunity to find the best route to his estate. I have never been up that way, so now I can memorize the way.”
“Ah, I see,” Haroon Patel replied, although his face was riddled with suspicion. He was still of the opinion that David Purdue was after more than Lilith’s medical expertise, but alas it was none of his business.
Purdue arrived at Wrichtishousis later than he had expected. Lilith Hurst had insisted they stop first to fill the tank of her car, and that delayed them slightly, but they still made good time. Inside, Purdue felt like a child on the morning of his birthday. He could not wait to get home, expecting that Sam would be waiting for him with the prize he so coveted since they were lost in the hellish maze of the Lost City.
“Good God, Mr. Purdue, what a place you have here!” Lilith exclaimed. Her mouth was agape as she leaned forward on her steering wheel to regard the tall majesty of the gates to Wrichtishousis. “This is amazing! Jesus, I can’t imagine what your electric bill is.”
Purdue chuckled heartily at her blunt honesty. Her apparent modest lifestyle was a welcome change from the company of wealthy landowners, moguls and politicians he was accustomed to.
“It is rather steep,” he played along.
Lilith gawked at him. “Of course. As if someone like you would know what steep means. I bet nothing is ever too steep for your wallet.” At once, she realized what she was insinuating and she gasped, “Oh my God. Mr. Purdue, I do apologize! I am mortified. I tend to speak my mind…”
“That is alright, Lilith,” he laughed. “Please, do not apologize for it. I find it refreshing. I am used to people kissing my ass all day, so it is good to hear someone say what they think.”
She shook her head slowly, as they passed the security booth and drove up the minor incline toward the imposing antique structure Purdue called home. As the car neared the mansion, Purdue could practically spring from it to get to see Sam, and the footage that would come with him. He wished that the nurse could drive a little faster, but dared not make such a request.
“Your garden is beautiful,” she remarked. “Look at all the amazing stone structures. Was this a castle before?”
“Not a castle, my dear, but close. It is a historical site, so I am sure it once held off intruders and protected many people from harm. When we first inspected the property, we did find remnants of vast stables and servant’s quarters. There are even ruins of an old chapel in the far east of the property,” he described dreamily, feeling quite proud of his Edinburgh residence. Of course, he owned a number of homes across the world, but he considered the main house in his native Scotland the primary seat of the Purdue fortune.
As soon as the car cam
e to a halt in front of the main doors, Purdue had his door open.
“Be careful, Mr. Purdue!” she cried. Worried, she switched off the engine and hastened to his side, just when Charles, his butler, opened the door.
“Welcome back, sir,” the rigid Charles said in his dry way. “We only expected you in two days.” He descended the steps to collect Purdue’s bags while the white haired billionaire rushed toward the steps as fast as he could. “Good day, madam,” Charles greeted the nurse, who in turn nodded in acknowledgment He had no idea who she was, but if she came with Purdue, he considered her important.
“Mr. Purdue, you cannot use that much pressure on your leg yet,” she whined in his tracks, trying to catch up to his wide strides. “Mr. Purdue…”
“Just help me up the steps, will you?” he asked politely, although she detected an air of profound urgency in his voice. “Charles?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has Mr. Cleave arrived yet?” Purdue asked as he trod up, one step at a time, impatiently.
“No, sir,” Charles answered casually. The answer was unassuming, yet Purdue’s expression in reaction was one of utter horror. For a moment he stood still, holding onto the nurse’s arm, leering at his butler.
“No?” he huffed in panic.
Just then, Lillian and Jane, his housekeeper and personal assistant, respectively, appeared in the door.
“No, sir. He has not been all day. Were you expecting him?” Charles asked.
“Was I…w-was I expec…Jesus, Charles, would I ask if he was here if I was not expecting him?” Purdue ranted uncharacteristically. It was a shock to hear a virtual shriek from their usually composed employer, and the women exchanged befuddled glances with Charles, who remained mute.
Order of the Black Sun Box Set 8 Page 6
